


The Beacon

by gingersnapper



Series: Our Anthem Universe [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Our Anthem Universe, hebridia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnapper/pseuds/gingersnapper
Summary: (Title will likely change)In a reverse take on my AU for ‘Our Anthem’, fifteen-year-old Peeta instead is a refugee from Panem, along with his family, when the Hunger Games become a bigger threat to the people of Panem. Katniss Fòlais, a Hebridean native, finds him washed ashore after a wreck. Things all seem to be fine and dandy once the Mellark family believes they are safe, but no one is truly ever safe once they’ve been put on President Snow’s radar, are they?
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: Our Anthem Universe [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848961
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this story! This one has a little bit of a different take than ‘Our Anthem’ but I still plan on taking it in a similar direction - only difference is, this story takes place in the land of Hebridia, where the Katniss from my AU universe is from. Hope you enjoy this take! This story will feature some Scots Gaelic and I will do my best to translate it without it seeming like it doesn’t belong - when Peeta is speaking, Gaelic will not be immediately translated (for effect because Peeta doesn’t speak the language) but when Katniss is speaking, the Gaelic will be immediately translated (because Katniss does speak the language).

* * *

**PEETA POV**

* * *

The wood of the ship creaked with each wave that rocked it in a way that somewhat unsettled me, but I knew that the ship was secure. The captain said the ship had made this journey many times over the years, but that didn’t do much to settle my mind. If it was so old, it was likely weaker than it had once been when it was new, and therefore more likely to sink, but drowning in the ocean was a better fate than the one we had left behind in Panem.

Things were getting worse. There were rumoured uprisings in other districts and President Snow was cracking down harder on them. He increased the number of tributes every year to two males and two females and raised the age pool of the Reaping to twenty-one, which included both me and my brothers. I was fifteen, my older brother, Donnel (affectionately referred to as Rye by my family), was seventeen and my oldest brother, Christos, was twenty. My mother was pretty much against leaving Panem, as it was very dangerous and she already didn’t like the Hebridean refugees that lived in District Twelve, but once the Reaping pool increased and the number of children reaped increased, even she knew it was time to leave.

The captain of our ship was a man called Ruairidh MacDonald, who was born in Hebridia and came to Panem at a young age with his parents. He lived in District Four, but in the middle of the night a few years ago, he took a ship, took his family and sailed off for Hebridia. I remember it was in the news everywhere. Anyone who had any knowledge of his whereabouts or his plans was to be severely punished - of course, that only affected District Four, as the districts had no contact with one another, but he was used as an example to ward off any attempts at fleeing Panem. That didn’t deter him, though. He managed to sneak his way back in and spread word silently that he was taking refugees back with him to Hebridia. He couldn’t take many, only about ten, and passage was very expensive, but my father seemed it worthy to attempt to escape. The night we left, we closed down the bakery, packed what we could carry on our backs and did our best to travel through the woods to get to the shoreline that we hadn’t known existed, where Ruairidh was waiting for us on his ship. With us was Aaricia Lennon, Christos’s longtime friend and fiancée, who was eighteen. She’d been in Christos’s life for as long as I could remember and may have well already been my sister. We’d invited her family as well, but they wouldn’t leave, and Aaricia didn’t want to leave Christos, so she came alone. Also with us were the four Cartwrights - Balmer, Lily, my childhood best friend, Delly, and her younger brother, Devy, adding up to the ten total passengers on Ruairidh MacDonald’s boat.

Everyone expected Delly and I to marry. We’d been friends for almost as long as Christos and Aaricia had been before they got engaged on what we had all thought was Aaricia’s final Reaping, but truth to be told, I did not love Delly that way, and she didn’t love me that way, either. Delly was actually more interested in women than in men, but homosexuality in the districts was strictly forbidden, as it would affect birthrates, and therefore the Reaping. Every married couple in Panem outside of the Capitol was required to have at least one child, and expected to have at least three. They wanted to make sure there was a large reaping pool to pull children from in the districts. Now that they’d upped the amount of children reaped, those expectations and requirements have been doubled. Perhaps in Hebridia, Delly could find someone who could truly make her happy and be allowed to marry them.

I won’t lie, I was scared. There were plenty of people that my father had cover up for us, but it would only be a matter of time before our absence was noticed, and if we were found, we’d all be killed, likely in the most horrific way possible, but we also might not be found and killed - it was a risk my father was willing to take.

I can’t say how long we were on that boat because I just didn’t know. My concept of time was very limited during that journey, as it was incredibly long, but Ruairidh said it wouldn’t be more than ten days, but it certainly felt longer than that. Especially when some of us started to fall ill.

Delly’s mother, Lily, fell ill first, and then Aaricia. Christos, too, began to show signs of a fever, and then Ruairidh. “I’ll be fine,” said the man. “It’s not an illness I haven’t had before.” Evidently, it was. About nine days into the journey, Ruairidh died of his illness, which did nothing to encourage the rest of us. We had no idea where we were going, and the automatic navigation system of the ship was outdated, according to Ruairidh. We didn’t know what to do, we didn’t know where we were going, and we were running out of supplies.

“We’ll just keep going... we have to hit land eventually,” said my father, who took over steering the boat. We ran out of food on the thirteenth day at sea, and fresh water on the fourteenth. It was hot, the sea was ferocious and we all believed that we were going to die. Delly’s mother was looking worse and worse with each passing day and Christos and Aaricia weren’t looking much better. And then I came down with a fever.

On the night of the sixteenth day, Donnel spotted a light off in the distance. “It has to be land. See how it’s flashing like that?” he said.

“Stars do that sometimes, Rye,” said Christos tiredly.

“No, he’s right,” I chimed in. “Look, see? It’s like it’s spinning! Almost like... like a lighthouse!”

“I can barely even see that, how the hell can you boys even see that?” said Dad. “It’s too foggy up ahead to tell for sure...”

“We’ve got nothing to lose, Caseo,” said Mom to Dad. “We’ll die if we don’t get to land soon.” My father agreed, and he steered the boat towards the light. The fog got worse as we approached, and we could hardly see where exactly the light was coming from. The deep roar of a horn could be heard as well - at least, we hoped it was a horn. It sounded demonic, almost, and very beast-like, kind of like the beasts that the schools of Panem told us existed in the waters beyond the borders of Panem in order to deter people like us from trying to escape. And yet, we trudged on. The light started to get closer and closer, but it was still incredibly difficult to see. I could see the beam now rotating in a circle - not too close, but not exactly very far, either. Through the fog, I could see the beam not far above our heads, and soon, I could see the rocks that the boat would momentarily crash into.

We first heard a loud bang, and then the crunch of splintering wood as the ship crashed into a rather large rock that must have been in our path but was invisible in the inky blackness of the ocean. The ship started to sink fast and the water was frigid and icy cold. “Mom! Dad!” I called as we slipped into the water. I couldn’t swim - I had no reason to learn in District Twelve, where there was no water to swim in, but I did my best to keep my head afloat. I could hear voices, but they were drowned out by the fierceness of the ocean waves hitting more and more rocks and the roar of the horrific noise we’d heard before, and not to mention the mind-numbingly icy waters of the ocean. I felt the waves slam me into a rock and felt a sharp pain in my side where I had come into contact with the rock, and I grabbed onto it and tried my best to climb it. It was slippery and difficult to hold onto, but I somehow managed to climb up onto the rock. “Mom... Dad...” I muttered weakly, weak from fever and fatigue and cold from the freezing waters, but I was fully on the rock and out of the water. I couldn’t see and I had no idea where my family was, and my head began to cloud with dizziness as if the fog had made its way into my head.

I awoke to daylight, and the fog was nearly gone. I looked above me to find a cloudless sky and the sun shining brightly overhead. I was cold, so cold, and I was all alone. I had no idea where I was, where my family was, what happened to the boat - nothing. Not a clue. Somewhere off in the distance, I thought I heard voices. I strained my ears to listen, but I couldn’t make out a word they were saying. Were they speaking gibberish? Or maybe another language? I didn’t know, but they were definitely voices and I weakly raised my head to search for their owners. “Help... help...” I called out weakly. A few moments later, I heard the sounds of footsteps as if they were jumping from rock to rock, and when I picked up my head, a woman was standing above me with a bow and arrow in her hand, an arrow trained on me.

“ _ Cò thusa? Dè tha thu a’ dèanamh an seo? Cò às a tha thu? _ ” said the girl fiercely in a language I couldn’t identify. She was beautiful though, I knew that much. She was framed by the sun, and her deep chocolate brown curls were framed by the sun in a half up, half down style, slightly dampened from the ocean. She wore a white shirt with loose sleeves that ended at about her elbows, and she wore a green, maroon and cream-coloured plaid wrap-around skirt that flew freely in the breeze, along with her hair. Her eyes, laced with alarm, were a deep stormy grey colour, and she had perhaps the most beautiful face I had ever seen. She must have grown impatient with me, for she spoke again, only harsher. “ _ Cò thusa? Chan iarr mi a-rithist. Marbhaidh mi thu, chan eil dragh agam. _ ” Something about the bow in her hands and the arrow pointed at the spot directly between my eyes told me I needed to speak to this woman, even though she probably wouldn’t understand me, as I couldn’t understand her.

“Please... I need help... We came... on a ship... No food... in days... Escaped...” I muttered. The woman eyed me suspiciously.

“You’re from Panem?” she said to me in perfect English, her voice laced with some foreign accent that I’d only heard diluted in some of the Hebridean refugees I’d met in school.

“Yes... is... Is this... Hebridia?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she answered, and she lowered her bow. She restored her arrow to her quiver and slung her arrow over her shoulder, then took a couple of steps forward and reached out her hand to me. “ _ Thoir dhomh do làmh. _ Give me your hand, and watch your step. The rocks are slippery.” I weakly reached for her hand and grasped it as firmly as I could manage, and she helped me to stand, but I only collapsed into her arms. “ _ Gabh do shocair _ , you’ll be all right,” she told me as she helped me across the rocks.


	2. The Hebridean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss introduces Hebridean culture. When she finds a refugee from Panem on the rocks of the Uibhist shore, she learns that there are more.

Life in Hebridia was its own unique culture. Many of us fished, many of us sailed, swam, hunted for fish along the seashore, set out crab and lobster traps marked in the harbour and ocean by buoys. We combed the shore for anything that might have washed up, salvaging all we could to feed on or trade with other islands in Hebridia. We ‘ran the rocks’ as we called it, which meant that we would run and jump along the rocky coastline as quickly as we could. No one could run the rocks better than a Hebridean and we held rock running races to find the best rock runner. When the sun went down, we found our way to the nearest  _ Talla a ‘Bhaile _ , or town hall, and attend a  _ cèilidh _ , or a gathering, and dance to Hebridean folk songs,  _ puirt à beul _ or  _ òran luaidh _ (mouth music and waulking songs). In Hebridia, we were as carefree as the gulls that flew overhead with the ocean breeze beneath their wings, or the salty waves that crashed along the rocky shores of the Hebridean islands.

Hebridia was once the ancient land of Scotland before the floods, but was renamed to Hebridia when mostly citizens who lived in the Hebrides were able to survive. All that remained were several islands. Where the mainland of Scotland once was were the islands of Gàidhealtachd (the largest), Galldachd (the second largest), Inbhir Nis, Glaschu, Carn Eige, Caerlaverock and Lobhdaidh. Where the Inner and Outer Hebrides were once were now Skye, Beinn Clìbric, An Teallach, Sgùrr Mòr, Eigg, Muile, Iona, Ìle, Tioradh, Barraigh, Èirisgeidh, Cille Bhrìghde, Hearadh, Leòdhas, Sealtainn, Foula, Whalsay, Archaibh, and Uibhist, my home. Where the land once known as Ireland now was (the northernmost portion, as much of the old emerald isle was now submerged) was made up of the islands of Èirinn Beagan, Derry and Ballymera. They were not exactly very friendly with Hebridia.

Uibhist was a very special island and like the Outer Hebrides once were, were the first to greet any travellers who came from the west, and many did. They were refugees from a horrid-sounding country called Panem. My mother said my uncle went there before I was born, but she knew nothing more other than he went to District Twelve. Evidently, Panem didn’t allow its citizens contact with the outside world, and forced its children to compete to the death every year in something called the Hunger Games, which explained why we had so many refugees from Panem. Uibhist was once made up of the islands of North and South Uist and it used to extend so much more than it once had, but now, it was just a small section of the land that was North Uist, but many residents of South Uist moved north to escape the floods. Settlements were renamed and became towns, and Uibhist was thriving. We had three harbours - Uibhist Harbour, which faced north, Faoileann Harbour, which faced south, and Paible Harbour, which faced west - and I hailed from the town of Paible, which sat in the middle of Paible Harbour and was the smallest of the sea ports of Uibhist.

Uibhist was the land where Clan Fòlais (pronounced ‘Fow-lis’, my father’s family, and Clan Èibhindùn (pronounced ‘Eehv-ihn-doon’), my mother’s family, hailed from. My father, Dòmhnall Fòlais, dark-haired like myself, was a scientist who worked primarily with vaccinations and diseases and my mother, Eilidh (pronounced ‘Ee-lee’), with hair as orange as the sunset and eyes as green as the grass, was a midwife by day and a singer at the  _ cèilidhs  _ that were held in the town halls by night. I, Katniss Fòlais, was the eldest child between them and was following in my mother’s footsteps as a midwife apprentice, and occasionally, I would sing at a  _ cèilidh _ , but not often. My twin brother, also called Dòmhnall after my father but nicknamed Dòmh, was on track to become a fisherman, as he was not particularly skilled in science, but he did have an incredible voice, much like my mother. Clan Èibhindùn was known for their exceptional singing voices. My mother always said how my uncle and her brother, Èairdsaidh (pronounced like ‘Archie’) could sing and the birds would stop to listen to him. The same happened when she sang, too. My two younger twin brothers, Cailean and Calum, were exceptionally talented in science, Cailean more so than Calum. The two of them, dark-haired like my father, were like mirror images of each other. Calum’s right eye was blue and his left was brown, and he was right-handed, while Cailean’s left eye was blue and his right was brown, and he was left-handed. My sister, Ashilda, had hair as equally orange as my mother’s and was an exceptional singer and dancer. She was the star of every  _ cèilidh _ in Uibhist and had the hearts of many young boys, but we always told her she was too young for dating. After Ashilda was my parents’ final set of twins, Anndra and Alasdair, who were young and, compared to Cailean and Calum, very well behaved. The wildest of our family were myself, Cailean and Calum, while the rest remained relatively mild-tempered. At the time, Dòmhnall and I were fifteen, Cailean and Calum were fourteen, Ashilda was eleven and Anndra and Alasdair were seven.

On a particularly warm day in the month of  _ Lùnastal _ , which evidently was called August in Panem, I had gone to help Dòmh check the traps in the harbour. Some clueless buffoon had cut our line with their boat motor, so I had to dive in to fetch the trap. It wasn’t particularly deep, perhaps only about seven metres, and brought up the nearly full trap, which held an assortment of crabs and lobsters, which we called  _ crùbagan _ and  _ giomaich _ in our native language of Gàidhlig (pronounced ‘gah-lick’). I dried off quickly in the warm summer sun as we returned our boat to its anchor in the middle of Paible Harbour and loaded up our rowboat, which held the anchor of our boat when we were using it, with the full traps we’d fetched, climbing in and riding it back to the dock.

“I appreciate you coming, Kat. I was never good at diving to find lost traps,” Dòmh said to me as we carried the trap together up the dock and to the truck that was waiting for us. We spoke to each other in our native Gàidhlig - we could speak English, as the ancient people of the land were generally bilingual in both English and Gàidhlig, but Gàidhlig was our primary language and the first we were born speaking. For a while, we didn’t really emphasise learning English as much as we did in school, but when the refugees from Panem began to flood in, learning English became very important.

“Please, you’re the best fisherman in the family. The rest of us are useless for that kind of thing,” I told my twin brother, who snorted.

“You’re the best hunter out of all of us, you know, and a real genius. You know, there’s a bet going on between some of the people in town. They don’t know if you’ll jump on the fishing boats, follow Dad into the lab or follow Mam into birthing rooms,” Dòmh replied as we lifted the trap onto the bed of the truck.

“Guess I’ll just have to surprise all of them and go into music,” I replied in a teasing tone, and Dòmh shook his head with a smile.

“I really don’t know how you do it. It’s like you can see the traps from the surface.”

“Kind of. If you look hard enough and the water isn’t too deep or too murky, you can just see it. C’mon, enough about the bloody traps, we’ve got to head to the Gullie. Sheena’s expecting her catch,” I reminded my brother. We climbed into the truck and he started it, and I hopped into the bed to open the trap and start separating the crabs from the lobsters, banding the claws of the lobsters so they didn’t bite or kill each other. When we arrived at the Gullie, which was what Sheena MacDougal called her shop, the crabs and lobsters were separated and I handed Dòmh each of the buckets, and he went inside to speak to Sheena. One thing I loved most about the Gullie was its location. It was located right above a rocky shore down below, perhaps a mile and a half from the Paible Lighthouse. The lighthouse was about a century old, standing tall and towering over the sea in its rich brick shaft and topped with a black walkway and the spinning light. On the top of the lighthouse was a foghorn to help guide the sailors as they approached the island on a foggy day. The previous night, it had been sounding off, as the night brought in probably one of the thickest fogs I had ever seen in my fifteen years. I closed my eyes to the salty breeze, pulling my loose white blouse a little closer to me as the ocean air nipped at my skin. My green, maroon and cream-coloured Fòlais tartan skirt fluttered freely in the breeze, along with my dark chocolate brown curls.

“Sheena says she can offer about seven pounds for the bucket of crabs and fifteen for the bucket of lobsters,” I heard Dòmh say to me in Gàidhlig.

“Fifteen? For six lobsters?” I asked him.

“We’ll be lucky to see fifteen pounds for six lobsters. Pàidrig at the Barrow only last week offered me eleven for seven lobsters. Evidently, the prices of sale are going down.”

“That’s the economy, isn’t it?” I asked him.

“ _ Help _ ...” I heard a voice being carried in the wind - weak, fragile, exhausted, and in English. I picked my head up and listened for the sound again.

“What?” Dòmh asked me.

“Don’t you hear that?” I asked him.

“Hear what?”

“ _ Help... _ ”

“That.” I reached into the truck and grabbed my bow and arrow. It sounded like the victim of a boat that crashed into the rocks. Many people who came to Uibhist were friendly travellers, but our neighbours to the south in Èirinn Beagan were not exactly very friendly. Kicking my shoes off and drawing my bow, I ran out onto the rocks (not to brag, but I was a very skilled rock runner), following the weak voice that was calling out for help in English. Did the  _ Èireannach, _ as we called them, speak English as we did? When I finally found the source of the voice, my eyes fell on the soaked form of a man, young, blonde and with broad shoulders that probably led him to the rocks he now lay on. A little ways away, I could see the remnants of a wooden boat that had smashed against some of the rocks - he must have hit them in the fog. I drew my arrow and pointed it at him, not willing to take a chance that this man wasn’t Èireannach, and he raised his head and met my storm grey eyes with his bright blue ones. “Please... help me...” the young man moaned tiredly.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Where are you from?” I said to him in Gàidhlig. I probably should have spoken to him in English, but it was easier and more threatening to speak in my own native language. He stared at me with his blue eyes wide, taking me in. I couldn’t tell if he was admiring me or trying to understand me. “Who are you? I will not ask again. I’ll kill you, I don’t care,” I said more harshly, pointing my arrow towards the middle of his forehead right between his eyes. 

“Please... I need help... We came... on a ship... No food... in days... Escaped...” the man muttered. I eyed him suspiciously, realising that this man wasn’t a man, but a boy, probably my own age. His accent wasn’t Hebridean, nor was it Èireannach - it was Panem.

“You’re from Panem?” I said to him in English, my voice coming out in a thick Hebridean brogue that I generally didn’t notice when speaking in Gàidhlig.

“Yes... is... Is this... Hebridia?” he asked me. So he knew where he was, and likely intended on coming here.

“Yes,” I answered, and I lowered her bow. This poor boy must have come from Panem to Hebridia seeking refuge and his boat had crashed. Who knew if he had come with family, or friends, or even a lover - my heart jumped a little at the thought of him having a lover, for some reason I didn’t know, but I pushed the thought aside as I restored my arrow to my quiver and slung my bow over my shoulder, then reached out a hand to him. “Give me your hand,” I said in Gàidhlig, and then remembered that he didn’t speak my language and changed to English. “Give me your hand, and watch your step. The rocks are slippery.” He weakly reached for my hand and grasped it as firmly as he could manage, and I helped him to stand, but he only collapsed into my arms. “Take it easy, you’ll be all right,” I told him as I helped him across the rocks. “What’s your name?”

“Peeta... Peeta Mellark,” he told me as I looped one of his arms over my shoulder and supported him with my other arm, grasping the hand of his arm that was over my shoulder in mine for extra support. “And you?”

“Katniss Fòlais,” I replied. We got back to the truck and I helped him climb into the bed, on which he laid down on his back. “Did you come with anyone?” I asked him, glancing around to see where Dòmh had gone.

“My family...” Peeta Mellark replied. “My parents... my brothers... two friends, one of those friends’ brother and their parents...” He glanced up at me, a sad look in his eye. “Am I the only one?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” I told him. “You were all I found.”

“There were others,” I heard Dòmh’s voice say behind me, and I turned to see him standing with a terrified middle-aged woman with blonde hair who looked equally as wet as Peeta. “This is Mellie Mellark, she says she was on the beach and she walked up here.”

“Mom?” I heard Peeta say, and he sat up just a little to look at the woman standing at the end of the truck.

“Peeta,” said the woman, and Dòmh helped her climb onto the bed of the truck so she could kneel down next to her son, pulling him into her arms and cradling him.

“Where’s the others?” asked Peeta, likely wondering where the rest of his family had gone.

“I don’t know, Peeta,” said Peeta’s mother, sitting up with a sigh and then looking back at us, a subtle glare in her blue eyes. “Do either of you know if there were other survivors?”

“We’ve only just gotten here ourselves, ma’am,” said Dòmh.

“There were more who were pulled from the rocks at dawn in the Harbour,” came the voice of Sheena MacDougal in Gàidhlig. “Your mother headed the rescue. Last I heard, she brought ‘em home to treat ‘em. Two girls, living, and four men. One of the women found was dead.”

“What about a young boy?” asked Mellie Mellark, and both Dòmh and I turned to look at her with confusion.

“You understood her?” I asked the middle-aged refugee, and she sighed and nodded.

“My mother came from Hebridia. Skye, I think. Mairead Dunaid,” said Mellie. Judging by the look of surprise on her son’s face, he didn’t know that his grandmother had hailed from Hebridia, and my trust in Mellie went down immensely. “Now, what about a young boy?” she asked, this time in Gàidhlig to Sheena.

“There was no young boy,” said Sheena. The look on Mellie’s face appeared heartbroken and shocked. I couldn’t tell if this young boy she was asking for was her son or a relative or something, but she evidently had cared for the boy.

“Well... if our mother rescued your family, we’d best get you both to our home and see if she knows where the rest of your family went,” Dòmh said, interrupting the moment of silence. I nodded gently.

“Yes, she’ll know for sure,” I chimed in. Dòmh climbed into the truck while I climbed into the bed with Peeta and Mellie, and I took notice of how warm Peeta felt. I took a cloth and dipped it into a bucket of seawater and draped it over his forehead. “You’ve got a fever. Did you catch it on the boat or do you think you have it from last night?”

“He had it on the boat. People got sick. Our captain died from whatever illness this was,” said Mellie to me.

“Who was your captain? We’ve got a few runners getting refugees from Panem,” I asked her.

“I don’t remember the pronunciation... Rudy?”

“Ruairidh? MacDonald? Oh, poor man. He used to think he was invincible from all illnesses, but I suppose even he couldn’t overcome cancer,” I told her.

“Cancer?”

“Yes, he had cancer. My mother was treating him. He was the only runner from Uibhist and he always picked up something while at sea. My mother always treated him when he returned.”

“Uibhist? Is that where we are?” I nodded.

“Yes, you’re in Uibhist. Kildonan, to be exact, but we’re going to Paible, where we’re from. It’s a bigger village and borders the harbour.”

“Where’s Skye? I was sort of hoping we’d end up there.”

“We can go to Skye, anytime you like, although it’s a bit of a journey. It’d be shorter to leave from Uibhist Harbour. Skye is maybe about six miles at twenty-five degrees northeast of us.” She nodded, then turned her attention back to her son, who seemed to have dozed off.

“Did you rescue him?” she asked me.

“From the rocks, yes. The boat wasn’t too far from him. We’ve a very rocky coast, and if Ruairidh died as you said, I can’t imagine you lot knew much of where you were going. Where in Panem are you from?” I asked the woman.

“District Twelve,” Mellie replied.

“That’s the coal-mining one, yeah?” She nodded.

“We weren’t coal miners, though. We were the bakers. We’ll be missed soon, I’m sure. We were the only bakers in the district.”

“But you did right on your sons. The things they do there are absolutely atrocious. Ever since we found out from Ruairidh, who was the first refugee runner, about the atrocities that happen in Panem, Hebridia has stopped allowing its people to travel there. They really kill twenty-three of their children every year?”

“More now, since they’ve doubled the amount of children who were chosen.”

“My god...” Mellie glanced down again at Peeta, running a hand through his hair and letting out a sigh.

“My oldest was past the age of being selected until they changed the age range. Children anywhere from age twelve to twenty-one are now drawn. Peeta’s fifteen, and my other two boys are seventeen and twenty. All of them were eligible to be selected.” She turned her attention to me. “What about you? And your siblings? If you’ve got any.”

“I’m the oldest of my siblings and there’s seven of us. My brother, who’s driving the truck, and I are both fifteen, my younger brothers are fourteen, my sister is eleven and my two youngest brothers are seven.”

“Your poor mother, that’s a lot of twins.” I chuckled gently.

“Yeah, but she was one, too. Her twin brother went to Panem years ago, before I was even born. To District Twelve. We were actually going to go as well, but that was the same year Ruairidh started running refugees and Hebridia banned all immigration to Panem.”

“What was her brother’s name?”

“Eardsaidh Èibhindùn. I’ve heard that Panem anglicised most really Hebridean names, though.”

“Yes, they do... He wouldn’t be Archie Everdeen, would he?”

“I suppose so, that name sounds closest to his. He went alone. Ruairidh actually said he’d met my uncle before one of his runnings, and when he came back, he learned that he was dead.”

“Could he sing?” I smiled, realising that we were indeed talking about the same man.

“Yes, he could. He and my mother both are beautiful singers. Were, I suppose... Ruairidh said he had a family.”

“I don’t know much about his family but I know he married the apothecary’s daughter. Her name is Agnessa.”

“Perhaps someday, she’ll find passage to Hebridia and bring her family with her. I know my mother would love to meet her.” I glanced up as we passed the sign that said  _ ‘A’ Dol A-Steach Gu Paible _ ’, which meant ‘Entering Paible’ in English. “Only a few minutes now, we’re not too far from the border.” When we arrived, there was a hearse carriage with a horse waiting and an unknown vehicle outside of our home that we didn’t recognise, but it was likely some official of the town coming to take down the names and information of the Panem refugees that my mother had taken in.

Our home was a very tall stone structure that had been on the island for centuries, since long before the flooding even destroyed the ancient landscape of the country of Scotland. According to documents that were found in the house years ago, parts of it had been built in the year 1642, some in the year 1738, and the remaining parts in the year 1797 - it was now 2158. The storms had destroyed it a little bit over the years and it had to be restored a few times, but now the home was good as new. Upon first walking in is a living room, and off to the left, a dining area, and behind the living room was the kitchen. A set of stairs led up to the second floor, where the bathroom, mine and Ashilda’s room and my brothers’ rooms were located. On the top floor, which had more than likely been intended to be an attic, was the room my parents slept in. It was the smallest room, but they wanted to make sure that their children slept comfortably. That was just who my parents were. My father’s logic was, “Well, we’re hardly in there anyway, so we don’t mind”. The house sat on top of a cliff that overlooked the ocean. It hadn’t always, but when the landscape changed and the house survived, it gained a beautiful view of the Paible Harbour.

Mellie Mellark shook her son awake and Dòmh and I helped them both into the house. Inside of our living room were several unfamiliar people who looked worse for wear. On the couch lay a young woman with dirty blonde hair who looked feverish, but very much alive, and on the floor beside her was a young man of about twenty, also blonde. Lying on the floor was a young girl with shoulder-length curly strawberry blonde hair and beside her on the floor was a middle-aged blonde man - between the two of them was a body under a covered sheet, and the coroner was speaking with them. In the kitchen was my mother and she had another young blonde boy on the table who resembled Peeta, only he looked a little bit older, and standing beside them was a middle-aged blonde man who really resembled Peeta. When we walked in, a couple of eyes turned to us, and the middle-aged man in the kitchen’s eyes lit up the moment he saw his son enter the room. “Peeta!” he cried, abandoning the side of his older son and running to embrace his younger son, who embraced him back.

“Dad!” Peeta replied, holding onto his father tightly.

“My god, I thought I lost you,” the older man said to his son, holding him tightly and then pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Have you seen your mother?”

“I think she’s still outside,” Peeta replied, and at that moment, Mellie walked in to be met by the arms of her husband.

“Mel! I was so worried about you!” the man exclaimed as he embraced his wife.

“That’s a first,” said Mellie, somewhat bitterly but also somewhat surprised. I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrow at the scene between them. This mother had such a strange dynamic with her youngest son and her husband.

“Katniss, would you mind examining them for me while I finish examining this young lad?” my mother said to me in Gàidhlig from the kitchen, and I turned to face her. Her thick red curls were loose, but held in place by a small square scarf over the top of her head, which held her hair out of her eyes. She dressed in typical Hebridean garb - a cream-coloured cotton dress with an olive green leather bodice and a tartan cloth wrapped around her waist above the skirt of the muslin dress.

“Already did, the boy’s got a fever and the mother seems fairly unscathed,” I replied, also in Gàidhlig. I helped my mother tend to Peeta when she examined and treated him while Mellie Mellark sat in an armchair with her husband hovering over her.

“So, what brings you lot to Hebridia?” my mother asked the room in English.

“Looking for refuge,” answered Peeta’s father, who was evidently called Caseo.

“Oh, come on, Panem can’t be that bad. They used to glorify it in the adverts although they’ve been a little quiet these last few years,” said my mother in a teasing tone, resulting in a chuckle from Caseo. At that moment, my father entered the house followed by the town of Paible’s mayor, who had a clipboard in his hands. My father was tall and dark-haired with stormy grey Hebridean eyes. His hair was a little longer, shoulder length, almost, with a few curls falling over his forehead. He wore a long-sleeved cotton button-up shirt and a pair of suspenders, and on his head was a newsie cap.

“Mr. Galleach needs everyone’s names, dates of birth and occupations in order to register you all under Uibhist’s protection,” he said as he addressed the group of refugees in our living room. “And when that’s done, settle in because you’ll be bunking here until we can find you some assigned housing.”

“I can provide that all for my family,” Caseo said, standing up and holding out a hand for Mr. Galleach to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, sir, and thank you for allowing us to stay. My name is Caseo Mellark, date of birth is October 8th, 2119, occupation was baker before we left Panem. My wife is Melanie Mellark, born on the 12th of January, 2120 and she was also a baker. My sons are Christos Mellark, born on May 22nd, 2139 and he, too, was a baker. Donnel Mellark, born on April 2nd, 2142 and Peeta Mellark, born on February 14th, 2144, both were students.”

“Excellent, excellent. You are a family of five?” asked Mr. Galleach, and Caseo turned to look at the blonde girl lying on the couch.

“Six, I suppose. My eldest son is engaged to Miss Aaricia Lennon,” said Caseo, turning to his eldest son.

“She was born on June 7th, 2141 and she was also a student. Just graduated and had yet to go into a career,” Christos, the eldest Mellark boy, replied. Mr. Galleach wrote this information down.

“And the remaining survivors?” he asked, turning to the young girl and the middle-aged man sitting beside the covered individual on the floor.

“Balmer Cartwright, May 26th, 2124, cobbler. This is my daughter, Delaney Cartwright, November 16th, 2143, student,” said the middle-aged man called Balmer. “My wife... She was Lily Cartwright, cobbler... and my son, he...” He paused for a moment. “His name was Devy and he wasn’t found.”

“I’m terribly sorry for your losses, kind sir,” said Mr. Galleach as he wrote down the information. “Ms. Ceallach here will take the body down to the funeral home for preparations. When you are better, we ask that you go down there to finalise any information we may need.” Mr. Cartwright nodded in response as Mr. Galleach turned back to my father, speaking to him in Gàidhlig. “Your wife and daughter have done well rescuing these people, but you must be careful. Panem has sent us several notices about accepting refugees from their borders.”

“I understand and accept the risks, as does my wife,” my father replied in Gàidhlig. When the house was ours again, along with our guests, my father called in my brothers and sister from outside, where he had sent them to wait when my mother brought the refugees home. “Boys, you’ll be bunking down here until these people are given a home,” my father told them in Gàidhlig.

“We have to give up our beds? How is that fair?” asked little Anndra.

“They need it more than we do. They’re sick, see?” said Cailean.

“But what if we’re sick?” asked Alasdair.

“You’re not sick, though, Al. It won’t be for long,” Ashilda told them. She was always a good voice of reason for the two younger boys.

“Ashilda and I are more than happy to sleep in the barn tonight and give up our bed as well,” I said to my father.

“Follow your sisters’ excellent example, boys. You have a home, these poor people do not,” said my mother to the younger boys.

“I don’t have a problem sleeping in the barn” said Cailean.

“Neither do I,” said Calum.

“Excellent, then it’s decided,” said my father, and then he turned to the group of refugees and spoke to them in English. “My children are more than happy to give up their beds until you are found a home.”

“They don’t have to do that. Wherever they’re planning on sleeping, we’ll stay there,” said Caseo Mellark.

“No harm done, we rather like sleeping in the barn on summer nights,” I replied, glancing at my brothers and urging them to hush. “And besides, you’ve all spent the night in icy waters and god knows how many days at sea. Please enjoy a sleep in a nice warm bed.”

My brothers, sister and I had slept in the barn before, both for fun and for reasons such as this, although it wasn’t often for a refugee boat to crash on the rocks. Then again, it wasn’t often that the captain of the refugee boat would die, either. That evening, as I collected blankets to bring to the barn, Peeta stopped me at the kitchen door, which would lead out to the barn and the garden. “You should be resting, you’re ill,” I reminded him.

“I just wanted to thank you... again... You saved my life,” he replied.

“You saved your own life by calling for help. I don’t believe I would have seen you otherwise,” I told him. “Are you, er... settling in well?”

“It’s not home, but it’ll do,” Peeta replied.

“I couldn’t imagine leaving my home the way you did, but perhaps if the situation was different here in Hebridia, I would.” A moment of silence passed between us. “You really ought to get some rest... and I’ve got to get up early tomorrow. I agreed to help my brother with the traps again.”

“Is that something everyone does here?”

“Fishing? Just about. There’s other little shops and trades and such but almost everyone has been in the water at some point.”

“I think I’d like to learn sometime.”

“Careful what you wish for,” I said with a chuckle, and he, too, cracked a smile. “When you’re better, I’ll take you out. You got that? Now get some rest, Peeta. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He flashed a charming smile at me, one that I found made my heart flutter just a little.

“Goodnight, Katniss,” he replied, and went back up the stairs to the room where the Mellarks were sleeping, which was my brothers’ room.

As I stepped out into the night sky, illuminated by the moon under a rare cloudless sky, I thought to myself about what that feeling in my stomach was. I’d never really felt it before - having crushes on boys was never really something I found myself doing. Sure, I’d had male friends, but nothing more than that. I’d known them for years, and Peeta I’d known only for a few hours, and yet, why was he on my mind as strongly as he was? He was handsome, I’ll give him that. Gorgeous golden sun-kissed curls and handsome blue eyes the colour of a cloudless sky. He had a broad, but handsome, nose and his smile was enough to make my stomach do backflips. His arms were toned and muscular, although after over two weeks of being at sea, he was looking a bit thin and worn out. I tried to imagine what he must have looked like before he left Panem and shuddered at the thought, forcing the idea out of my head. I couldn’t have these thoughts about him - you don’t have those thoughts about someone you just met. But he was incredibly handsome. That night, I would lay my head on a pillow filled with straw and dream of the handsome young lad with blonde curls and beautiful blue eyes.


End file.
